


Remedy

by mimesere



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 04:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2011620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimesere/pseuds/mimesere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Matrix made it look easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remedy

The lights have been off for a good long while by the time Gunn realizes he's sitting in the dark. He rubs at his forehead but that only makes the headache worse, like for fuck all he thought that was even possible, but apparently getting a library downloaded into your head is not all the fun and games that it should be.

Fucking Matrix, making it look easy.

It's like someone is stabbing him in the eye with a screwdriver, twisting it like a knife in the back and he cannot, can _not_ fucking believe the piles and piles of bullshit. What was he supposed to do? Mooch off the evil white people and not do anything? Fuck that noise. Fuck it hard and fuck it long and fuck fuck _fuck_ his head feels like it's going to fucking explode and won't the cleaners just love that, bits of brain and blood and squishy things all over the nice floor and fuck--

His fist is moving before he can even think about it and Wesley gets out of the way quick, sidestepping easy and there's a second when Gunn is not at all sorry that he just tried to hit the asshole but then he remembers that Wesley's his friend and he remembers that if he had been standing where Wesley was, he'd probably wonder about the evil brain download.

"Gunn," says Wesley carefully. Gunn can barely see him in the dark, just this dark shape against the light spilling in the door.

"Fuck off," he says and thinks about banging his head into the desk. It can't hurt worse.

And Wesley never does a goddamn thing he's told, so it's not a surprise when Wesley comes around the desk and crouches next to him. 

"Gunn, are you all right?"

"No," he says. "No. My head feels like it's going to have a baby." Careful enunciation, every syllable as clear as the Pirates of goddamn fucking Penzance can make it. Wesley flinches and Gunn feels a twist in his stomach, but it's gone before he can think of why. 

"How very Greek of you," Wesley says lightly.

It would be so very wrong to just hit Wesley. Joke time is not this time.

But then Wesley proves that he is, in fact, as smart as he thinks he is, 'cause he puts a bottle down in front of Gunn and a glass of water next to it, praise the baby Jesus and hallelujah. "Excedrin."

"'Cause I've got a headache _this big_ ," says Gunn and he really really hates childproof caps.

Wesley gets up and goes over to turn on the light. Gunn immediately feels like pulling out his eyes but all he says is, "No. No. Light makes the brain baby kick."

Wesley snorts, but he turns the lights back off. "I'm not surprised."

"Because it's a headache born of evil?" Oh and that's a nasty tone. Gunn wondered why.

"Because it's a headache."

"Oh."

He finally manages to fumble the cap off and dry swallows two. "There's nothing in the magic pharmacy that's better than Excedrin?"

"There is if you don't mind turning into a lemur later."

"A lemur."

"Among the many pleasant side effects."

"Do I even want to know what the others are?"

"Truthfully?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Tell me anyway."

"Well, the concoction that they've come up with seems to cure headaches by melting one's brain."

"Nice."

"It dribbles out your nose, apparently."

"Jesus, Wes."

"Mine is a charming department." Wesley crouches down beside Gunn's chair again. "Better?"

"At this point, brain dribbling sounds like a huge improvement."

"Oh dear." Wesley reaches up and his fingers are cool against Gunn's forehead. "I've been reading up on the procedure they used."

"If you tell me that there was some kind of painless way to do it, I will totally kill you."

"Hm. No. Open your eyes, please."

"They are open."

"As if I'm shining one of those little flashlights into your eyes. I need to see--"

"If you were shining a flashlight in my eyes, I'd be using it to beat you to death right about now."

"You are irritable," Wesley says, but he kind of rocks back and looks at Gunn. "The headaches should die down soon."

Gunn just closes his eyes and rubs his head again. "How soon are we talking?"

"Another week. Perhaps two. It varies by person." Wesley is still just a blurry shape in the dark and Gunn wonders if he needs glasses. Quick on that he wonders what happened to Wesley's. 

"Your glasses."

Wesley reaches up but then it's like he remembers they're gone. "Ah. Yes. Contact lenses."

"Vanity."

"Hardly." Wesley's voice is dry as sand. "It seemed the thing to do."

"Well, they won't fall off while you're killing something. So that's good."

"That was the idea."

"You're a smart man, English."

"I try."

And what more is there to say? Gunn's still pissed about them thinking he's evil and Wesley's thinking something and his headache is still beating a drum in his head and mostly all he wants to do is go somewhere and have a beer, maybe nine beers, and just take a second to think about what's going on. He's become The Man, which is embarrassing; no one seems to think he's trustable, which is irritating; and he hasn't gotten laid in what seems like forever. And that is just sad.

"My life sucks, Wesley."

Wesley snorts. "Because the expensive suits and cars are such a tragedy."

"No sex," Gunn says mournfully. "I don't have time."

"Such a pity."

"It really is."

"I can't remember the last time I've had sex," Wesley says thoughtfully. "And this is hardly appropriate conversation for the workplace."

"Where else are we gonna talk about it? It's not like we go home."

"Sadly true."

It is true and it is sad and Gunn can't remember the last time he had sex and this continuing life of chastity sucks beyond the telling of it. Is he not an attractive man? Does he not look fine as hell when he's not covered in demon guts? "I want to have sex." And Jesus, but what the fuck is wrong with him that he can't keep his mouth shut right now? 

"Sex is bad," Wesley says automatically.

"It's really not. Sex is good."

"Bad. One ends up impregnated with demon spawn."

"Okay, just stop that story right there. I do not want to know." Gunn is trying to imagine a world in which the first thing you think of when you think about sex is demon spawn pregnancies, and mostly it is not a world he wants to live in. "Why are we talking about sex?"

"Because we're not having any, I would imagine."

"Why are we not having any?"

"At this particular moment?"

"Yes."

Wesley's laughing when he says, "Because you've got a headache."

Evil. Totally evil. Gunn considers flipping him off, but Wesley won't see it and thus the gesture would be lost on him. "Asshole," says Gunn. But now the idea is in his head along with the pain and neither of them seems like they're going away any too soon. Wesley and sex. " _Asshole_ ," he says again, feelingly.

"Hm?"

"You just--it's in my _head_ now."

"What is? Sex?"

"With you."

"Oh." Wesley clears his throat. "Ah. Is it good sex?"

"What?"

"The sex. Is it good?"

What kind of fucked up person asks that? "Man, what the fuck? How should I know?"

"It is in your head," Wesley points out. "I can't exactly judge for myself."

"It's fucked up is what it is."

"Hm."

And that's all Wesley says and Gunn wants to grumble to himself because the mental pictures he's drawing are not at all what he wanted, but like he said, they're in his *head* and not going anywhere. Gunn regrets ever mentioning sex. He regrets ever thinking about sex. Gunn regrets that he really can't get Wesley out of his head. "Go away," he says. Like that's gonna solve anything.

Wesley gets up to go. "All right."

Aw, shit. "Wesley--" 

"I think it's past time I went home. I suggest you do the same."

"Wesley--"

"Gunn."

A hundred thousand thoughts going all at once and Wesley in every last one of them. In a hospital bed, bleeding, tipping over onto him, the off-key singing. Sword, knife, gun, axe, mace, book, bell, and candle. Hours of movies and video games and he can't even begin to imagine his life without Wesley there, and oh _shit_. This is his life and it sucks so very, very hard.

And sometime in the middle of Gunn's life totally fucking realigning itself, Wesley's gone. Shit, he thinks. "Shit."

But hey, the headache is gone too.

Gunn's up and out of his chair and running down the hall. Wesley's disappearing behind the elevator doors and this is all fucked up. Fucked. Up. "Wesley!" he shouts and no way Wesley can miss him running, but he doesn't do anything helpful and the doors are closed long before Gunn gets there. He smacks them with his hand and that hurts like a motherfucker. 

All right. Down the stairs and to the garage. Wesley's bike is parked next to Gunn's truck and Wesley's almost there when Gunn books it across to where Wesley is. Wesley just looks surprised when Gunn grabs him and pushes him up against the truck. "It was good," Gunn says. 

"That's nice."

"No, you don't--" Gunn takes a deep breath. "It's always been good. 'Cause now? Not so much the first time ever. About you."  
Wesley's eyes go all wide and mostly he looks awful in way too harsh light. But still. "I mean. I had the list, you know?" The look on Wesley's face is anything but understanding. "The list. The _list_."

He still just looks puzzled. "The list?"

"Of guys I'd have sex with."

"A list?"

"Well. Yeah. Don't you have a list?" Wesley starts to shake his head when Gunn just starts up again. "Anyway, that doesn't matter. I have a list, and that is what matters."

"Your list."

"Yes. The list that you're on."

"I'm on your to-do list." 

"No!" Gunn shakes him a little. "I mean, well, yeah. You're on my list."

"I see."

"You don't."

"No, you're right about that. I was trying to be polite." Wesley puts a hand against Gunn's chest and pushes just hard enough for Gunn to feel it. "I think that you're not thinking clearly."

"Don't think for me," says Gunn. "I don't need you to do that." Frustration, because he can't think of what to say and it's his job now and he can't think of a single fucking thing. "You're always there."

"So I'm convenient. You'll pardon me if I'm not terribly flattered."

"You're not listening," Gunn says.

"And you're not saying anything worth listening to," snaps Wesley. "I'm not going to sleep with you because you suddenly decide it's a good idea. The very idea is insulting."

"You're everywhere in my head. Everywhere. And I can't get rid of you." Not what he meant to say. The White Room is all tangled up in his head for a second and then it's gone. He looks at Wesley and there's a million things he sees, not all good, but a lot. "I'm not sure I want to."

Wesley looks down at his hand on Gunn's chest. "Gunn. I--I should go."

Gunn takes a step back and Wesley's hand falls. "I'm not stopping you."

"No." He glances at Gunn. "I was good, eh?"

Gunn can practically see Wesley's brain working. "Yeah."

"Good, good. Well," he says. "I think that's that."

"What's that?"

Wesley's fast and sometimes Gunn forgets that, but he's got them reversed before Gunn can really think of what's happening and then Wesley's all up close and there is a kiss. Nothing like with Fred and everything like how Gunn pictured it, all challenge and pushing and Gunn can give back as good as he gets. Then it's over as quick as it started.

"I'm going home," says Wesley. He doesn't sound steady and that makes Gunn grin. "I'm not entirely convinced this isn't a pity thing."

"Fair enough." Opening arguments are over, evidence has been presented, and Gunn's ready to close. "It's kind of sudden."

Wesley just laughs, but his eyes are softer. "You have a _list_. That's appalling."

"You're in good company," says Gunn.

"I usually am."

"Oh, and the modesty's a turn on." 

Wesley just rolls his eyes and gets on the bike. He's gone without saying anything else, but Gunn feels okay about it. Wesley's sometimes an asshole and arrogant and still like, Gunn's favorite person ever. 

Gunn pats his truck on the hood and reaches in his pocket for his keys. His headache's gone and sex is looming on the horizon. 

Things are looking up.


End file.
